


Disorientation

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [61]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bloodlust, Death Eaters, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Slash, Infidelity, Knights of Walpurgis, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #63 of 100 | As a mentor to Rabastan Lestrange, a Death Eater, Abraxas Malfoy works to hone his trainee's kinesthetic skills. Working so closely together introduces another level of body knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disorientation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibuzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibuzoo/gifts).



> September 7th, 2016 - Requested by ibuzoo. This grew out of control past the 1k word limit for these stories and I'm not sorry. I also combined the prompt "If you die, I'm gonna kill you" on tumblr, also for my dear ibu.
> 
> "Sacha" is the French form of, and is pronounced the same as, "Sasha". Abraxas's wife is not canonically mentioned so I pulled a French pureblood into the mix. Also, Rabastan and Rodolphus I always saw as just graduated from Hogwarts before Bellatrix and Rita Skeeter and those characters started.

"Up you get."

Pale and unscathed, a hand entered Rabastan's vision. He reached up to grasp Abraxas's hand and groaned as the muscles in his arm protested against the movement. Once standing, he automatically moved to smooth his robes and brush some of the dirt off the sleeves, further aggravating the bruises beneath. Sunlight created patterns of shadows over his vision, disorienting him for a moment as the volley of curses that hit his chest ran their painful course.

"You lasted twenty minutes that time," Abraxas said. The cool tenor of his voice washed over Rabastan's oversensitive skin, and goosebumps flared over his arms and thighs.

"Almost a compliment, sir?" he asked, risking the cheek after weeks of private dueling tutoring.

He was rewarded with a softening of the lines around Abraxas' eyes. "Nearly."

Abraxas raised his wand to undo the enchantments on Malfoy Manor's wine cellar, a corridor to be frank, and currently empty while waiting for the upcoming season when the elves would restock the supply. False trees and grass fell away to reveal the true stone and wood beneath the glamours.

"Will you dine with us tonight?" Abraxas asked, rooting Rabastan's conscious back to reality. The curses were taking longer to dissipate than he'd expected.

"Assuredly, sir." Rabastan readily replied. He nodded his head slightly to his tutor, an almost bow, and hoped the flush of his neck hadn't reached his cheeks yet. "Has Sacha returned with Lucius?"

"Her visit to her parent's in France has concluded, yes. I expect my wife and son will be home presently."

Rabastan hoped the disappointment he felt was hidden from Abraxas's sharp eyes, and followed the Malfoy patriarch up and out of the basement. Moments for the two of them seemed to grow further apart the closer Lucius grew to the age of majority. At thirteen, the boy was already growing steadily in his father's footsteps and demanded more attention in his own education on family matters. It made Rabastan wish he could hate the child.

Sweat lined his brow and the back of his neck and though the enchantments creating false dust and dirt were removed, he could still feel the scratch of debris over his exposed skin. Absently, he scratched the back of his hands, following Abraxas step for step in relative silence.

"Our Lord requested our audience after dinner has concluded," Abraxas said once they reached the ground floor. He turned to face Rabastan with a calculating eye, his gaze lingering as he regarded the slightly unkempt appearance of the younger man. "You may use the showers in my rooms to make yourself presentable. There is a set of navy robes that would work well with your complexion and they fit well beneath our robes. You brought them?"

A curt nod to cover the way his Adam's apple bobbed nervously under the scrutiny of the older and more refined wizard, Rabastan confirmed he had his mask and robes for any surprise meetings or raids. Afternoon sun cut through the high windows of the Malfoy's front parlor where he found himself not two minutes later, still following his mentor like a shadow. Every step he took was controlled to impress the man on the Dark Lord's right hand, the man who'd agreed to take him under his wing and hone his skills from rough edged blade to precise arrowhead. Rodolphus sulked privately when Rabastan was handpicked by Abraxas after their initiation ceremony, though he followed behind Cygnus Black, intending to secure a marriage betrothal to the eldest daughter of his brood, not yet of age for Hogwarts.

The weight of a crystal tumbler of Firewhiskey filled his palm, the chill of the ice contrasting to the heated fingertips running over his.

Abraxas pulled away before Rabastan could register the moment. Had Abraxas used a nonverbal Confundus on him, and the effects muddied his senses to near distraction?

Silence wove layer over layer of tension as the two men polished off their drinks, only customary when their training had gone well. Rabastan pulled long sips from his tumbler each time it reached his lips. It compensated for the infrequency he was allowed to bring it to his mouth, unless he reveal how he was on tenterhooks.

Moving his gaze from the empty glass over to his host, Rabastan felt the burn of liquor coating his throat and tongue grow in intensity, the chemical reactions of his traitorous body responding to the concentrated stare directed at him.

"Shall we walk, Rabastan?"

Not boy. Not Lestrange, as he'd been addressed every time before while alone or in mixed company with this man. Rabastan.

He didn't trust his voice, he stood and nodded, following Abraxas through hallways of tapestries and pale faced Malfoys along every wall. The doors at the end of the hall to the master suite loomed before him, but Abraxas swerved to the right down a corridor Rabastan hadn't noted before in their drills and lessons. Hadn't Abraxas mentioned his rooms? He'd not doubted his hearing once in all twenty years of his life before and chastised himself for doing so now.

Words, though in overflowing supply in every occasion from this man, seemed to fail Abraxas as he paused before a less grand set of doors in the side corridor. His bare hands, customary leather gloves left in the parlor, rested on the handles a moment too long to be comfortable. Rabastan felt his mouth water, a telltale sheen coating his tongue, and he pulled the sides of his cheeks in to hold between his teeth. The sight of the uncovered fingers shouldn't feel so sinful, but the connotation was unmistakable.

Rabastan reached over to rest one of his own uncovered hands atop Abraxas's, moving forward with this physical change in control that he felt more equipped to handle.

As his their hands met unbound for the first time, the burning heat he could always feel beneath those gloves when Abraxas threw him in dueling or handed him a drink, scorched his fingertips. The pads burned away until he knew he'd never feel the touch of another quite like this.

The burning intensified, growing uncomfortably warm until Rabastan pulled Abraxas's hand away from the metal door handles, their hands clenching tightly as their left forearms blazed.

"He's early. Something's happened." At this range Rabastan could feel the puffs of breath leaving Abraxas's lips at each plosive consonant.

"Apparate us," Rabastan said, his voice shaking as he worked to control himself.

Slight adjustments to the appearance of their grip, neither ready to relinquish the hold on the other, and Abraxas pulled them through the wards around Malfoy Manor to answer the call of their Dark Lord. The street they landed on, more gracefully than Rabastan would have managed, was darker than the rolling hills of Wiltshire. Concealed behind a foul smelling trash can the two men donned their cloaks, masks, and leather gloves. Rabastan mourned the disappearance of the pale knuckles on Abraxas's hands.

As they walked to the small gathering of similarly dressed figures, their shoes barely whispered over the cobblestones, charms remaining from their dueling practice affording them a level of discretion.

"Bast," his older brother greeted.

"Roddy," Rabastan returned quietly.

The tall and wiry frame of Cygnus Black stood starkly among the other cloaked figures, his hair as dark as his name showing beneath the hood in a tight plait. He and Abraxas greetd each other as quietly as the Lestrange brothers had, heads bowed close to continue a hushed conversation. As Knights of Walpurgis they held a level of refinement the Death Eaters scattered around them envied. Goyle and Crabbe, the most recent additions to the Death Eaters, the ink barely healed on their arms, leaned against the side of the shop they gathered in front of, and Rabastan itched at the deserted feeling of the stretch of town. The neighborhood was painfully Muggle, and he'd rather see the scum than accidentally tread over one of the filthy rats.

Seconds passed, then minutes, and still no further word from their Lord. The younger followers grew agitated, each appearance of another Knight or Death Eater raising their hopes of greeting the Dark Lord, to be dashed by the arrival of a comrade instead.

Finally, finally, a cool voice slipped between the cracks in their resolve and filled their anxious movements with assurance.

"These last weeks have pleased me," the Dark Lord said after a graceful Apparition landing. His eyes were bloodshot as he surveyed the collection of cloaked men and women. "I've created a reward for my loyal followers, call it an early Christmas present."

The more daring members chuckled behind their masks, and the pallid skin around their Lord's lips twitched in an almost smile, revealing a stretch of gums that were too red, receeding back from blindingly white teeth. A lock of dark hair fell over his gaze with a twitch of his head.

"They've been locked in their cages since daybreak yesterday and are no doubt fortified against us, providing somewhat of a challenge for you, my loyal followers. I look forward to seeing you all later tonight and hearing of your success."

Rabastan turned to Abraxas, whose heated skin he could still feel beneath his palms for confirmation, and felt his knees soften at the glee shining through the eyes of the mask. A wide and feral grin bloomed below Rabastan's own as the affirmation of his assumptions was mutely confirmed, and he drew his wand in tandem with several others. He let the weakness in his knees from the beautiful blonde man next to him guide him into a semi-crouch. Side-by-side, pairs of Knights and their apprentices moved forward through the streets of the village to claim their prize and still be home in time for dinner with their wives and children.

Before he could enter the hovel nearest him, housing no less than three screaming Muggles by his estimation, Rabastan halted at the grip of a familiar hand on his arm.

Abraxas's eyes still shone with excitement and his chest rose and fell rapidly. The grip on Rabastan's arm intensified for a moment as his mentor said, "Don't disappoint me by dying here. I have more planned for you."

"Yes, sir," Rabastan promised, body quivering with anticipation of his first true raid and the truer reward awaiting him.

The ripping sound of flesh from bone was more muted in reality than what he'd fallen asleep imagining. The snap and crunch of pulverizing marrow beneath the flesh, he found much more satisfying. By the end of his shared raid on the house of a Muggle policeman, his wand was tucked away in favor of his dagger and his hands. Though there was something satisfying about the way the man's femur gave out beneath him, only the weight of his body and the force of his own muscles working to break it, he was fixated on the man's hands. Each finger bent into intricate designs while the sporadic gurgle disrupted the silence, blood pooling in the cadaver's mouth and air escaping the punctured lungs.

Remembering the delicate way those fingers bent to his will heightened the sensation later, when Abraxas used his hands to dig into the tense cords of Rabastan's thighs, gripping against the slickness of sweat gathered after the raid, their psyches and bodies in a corybantic delirium of bloodlust.


End file.
